


Three Hundred and Sixty One Shades of Blue

by dapatty, ermengarde



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25546960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ermengarde/pseuds/ermengarde
Summary: Wherein Mikey isnothaving an existential crisis, nor is he allowed to use the ladder, and Frank has some very specific ideas about decorating.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36
Collections: Pod_Together 2020





	Three Hundred and Sixty One Shades of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Patty <3 <3

Cover by dapatty

[MP3 (7.2 MB)> | ](https://dapatty.parakaproductions.com/Pod%20Together/Three%20Hundred%20and%20Sixty%20One%20Shades%20of%20Blue.mp3) [Mobile Streaming Click Here](https://dapatty.parakaproductions.com/Pod%20Together/Three%20Hundred%20and%20Sixty%20One%20Shades%20of%20Blue.mp3)

Mikey is _not_ having an existential crisis in Lowes. He’s just… What the fuck is a Lunaria? Like… he gets the blue called Light Drizzle, even though he doesn’t get why you’d want to live in that, but for half the paint they’re just making up words, and there are three hundred and sixty one blues, and honestly what the actual fuck. 

Mikey is studiously ignoring the primer section and the nine hundred different finishes and… it’s honestly not an existential crisis, but why do they need to make decorating so hard?

There’s a gap in the huge cans of economy white and Mikey sits down in it. Frankie will come and get him soon.

“Hey Mikes, are you done already?” Frank crashes to a stop in front of him, his cart filled with sticks and rolls of tape, and bags of things, and …

“Frankie, is that a _ladder_?”

“I figured that we might like to paint right up to the tops of the walls.” Frank smirks.

“Well, yes, but, I… I thought we were going to get Ray to do those bits?”

“Mikey Way, just because _you_ cannot be trusted up a ladder does not mean that _I_ cannot be trusted up a ladder.” Frank gestures extravagantly at himself, like he’s the epitome of ladder safety or some shit. 

“Ray’s got health insurance, he can afford to break an ankle.” Mikey says flatly.

“I can be careful!” Frank sounds outraged, which is ridiculous because Frank is absolutely not careful. He’s just… more intentional about his lack of care than Mikey is. One fucking heater in the shower and everyone thinks you’re fucking incapable. Mikey rolls his eyes and tries to get up. 

“A hand, here, Frank, please?” Mikey is not really _stuck_ , he’s just… If Frankie doesn’t help him out of the paint cans Mikey’s going to have to roll out of the shelf onto his knees or something and he figures that he’s an adult, and he probably shouldn’t do that shit in the middle of a hardware store.

Frank nearly pisses himself laughing, but eventually he offers Mikey his hand and hauls him up. 

“So, are our walls going to be Peach Vanilla Fluff?” Frank asks, with one raised eyebrow.

“What the actual… No, Frankie, we will not be living in some kind of Starbucks drink. I don’t even think that’s a real color.” Mikey can’t be, like 100% sure, but it sounds way too comprehensible to be paint.

Their deal was that Mikey can pick the color, but Frank gets a veto, because Frank has to live in their apartment too. Mikey is _good_ at color, and he feels good about the choice he’s made, as long as it’s the right kind of formulation and it doesn’t look totally different when it’s on the wall. Mikey’s had enough experience of watching Gee create to know that sometimes paint dries in a real different way than you’d expect.

Mikey reaches over, picks out an 8oz sample thing, checks the label, and hands it over to Frank. Frank looks at the color chip and nods before he reads the name and starts laughing. 

When they get home Mikey paints neat little squares on printer paper and pins them up on all the walls so that they can see what the color will look like in every kind of light. Even after it dries, it’s great, just like he hoped, a warm soft green, like the milk in the Last Jedi but paler and with undertones of the ocean… well, like the oceane you see in brochures for exclusive over-water villas on islands hundreds of miles and thousands of dollars away. It looks bluer in some lights, but still warm and cosy. It’s perfect. 

Mikey and Frank lie on the floor, looking at the paint samples on the far wall upside down. It’s nice, Mikey thinks, that they know their walls will look good to whoever happens to pass out under the coffee table, but he’s not sure that this part of Frankie’s _color appraisal process (™)_ makes a lot of sense. Mikey shrugs, feeling his shirt catch on the rug underneath him, it’s easy and it seems to make Frank happy, so whatever. 

“It looks good, Mikes, good pick.” Frank reaches out and pats at Mikey. “Although we need to come up with a better name for the color… fucking _Folk Tale_ , like, that’s just asking your brother to paint a mural that comes to life and drags us off to an imaginary world with, like, faries and shit.”

“I think they prefer fae…” Mikey ponders. He’s pretty sure he read that somewhere. 

“They’re _imaginary_.” Frankie sounds exasperated. “Except I’m not so sure about you and your brother. If anyone’s come out of an oral tradition spanning back through the generations it’s you and Gerard.”

MIkey sits up, and has to put his hand out to hold the floor as his head spins with the sudden change in orientation. “Woah. I think we need dinner.”

“Good idea Mikey, do you want lasagne or… like… a saucer of milk?” Frank snickers.

MIkey gives him the finger “Fucker. You can do the dishes.”

Frank rolls to his feet like a cat. “I always do the dishes!”

“Because you don’t wait for me to do them.” Mikey grumbles.

“Because I don’t wait for the mold to move in.” Frank mutters darkly.

It’s fine. The housework is an old, old argument. Mikey has other talents.

Frank doesn’t let Mikey start painting right away, even though they already have the primer stuff. Apparently it’s much easier to paint in daylight, so Frank hauls him back to Lowes to pick up the full size cans of Folk Tale after dinner.. Mikey is _never_ telling Gee what the color’s called. He’s going to make Frank memorise the reference number instead. 

Painting day starts bright and fucking early. Frank has Mikey up and sitting at the kitchen counter, staring into his coffee like it will explain why he’s up before the sun is, before Mikey’s really even woken up. 

The coffee does not explain, but it does help Mikey at least imitate a human, and by the time daylight is painfully assaulting him and driving him out of the kitchen, Mikey’s pretty much coordinated and capable of full sentences. 

Frank has wrapped the whole room in plastic, all the furniture and the rugs, and he’s opened the huge can of primer and is stirring it with his special stick. 

“Where do we start?” Mikey asks. He’s pretty sure that, with the primer at least, it’s just a case of slopping the stuff on the walls, but Frank sometimes has _plans_ on how to do things, and Mikey’s learned that he’s best off just finding out the plan and following it.

“You sit there.” Frank nods at their plastic-swathed couch. “And tell me what bits I’ve missed.” Frank doesn’t meet Mikey’s eye. Apparently stirring paint requires a lot of concentration.

"I can fucking paint stuff, Frankie, fuck!. Brushes aren't sharp." Mikey isn’t going to sit on his ass and fucking _watch_ , he’s capable. 

“Hmmmm.” Frank doesn’t sound convinced but he still doesn’t look at Mikey as he puts the paint can down and lines up the ladder next to the wall. 

Mikey figures that Frankie _knows_ he’s being ridiculous, and Mikey definitely _doesn't_ nearly trip up over the paint tray when he’s going to grab a brush. If no one witnessed it it didn't happen, and Frank totally wasn’t looking, Frank was playing with his stupid fucking ladder. Mikey is going to paint this room.

“Fine.” Frank gestures at him with his paint stirring stick, dripping onto the crinkly plastic drop cloth, “but you don’t come within ten feet of this ladder.” Frank sweeps his arm round, sketching a rough protective circle around him like a level zero wizard. “You shall not pass.” Frank dissolves into giggles but continues reciting his rules of decorating like he’s some kind of responsible adult. “Not the ladder, not the little tool that gets the lid off of the paint can, not this fucking _stick_. Soft things near the floor for you only Mikey Way.” 

Mikey chooses to take the high road in this conversation and starts working on all the finicky edging detail bits, _cutting in_ the guide on the back of the paint tray wrapper says. Most of that ends up being around the baseboards anyway, so Mikey ends up sitting safely on the floor, but it also requires a steady hand and a fine eye for detail and Mikey is _so much fucking better at that shit than Frankie_. So there. Frankie is not the boss of him.

Frankie is kind of the boss of knowing when the primer’s dried enough to start with the real color, and when the first coat’s dry enough for the second… but, like, Mikey totally chooses what bits he’s painting. 

Decorating is _exhausting_ and it takes all fucking day, with long breaks while everything dries. Mikey has paint in his hair and he’s pretty sure that he’s not going to enjoy peeling his jeans off, because there’s no way the paint he sat in hasn’t stuck to his skin by now, but the room looks fucking awesome. Like new, almost. 

Frank bumps shoulders with him. “Looks great Mikey Way. Want to pick out a color for the kitchen?”

Mikey shrugs and nods. “Maybe, not tomorrow.” Mikey is exhausted. “But yeah, it makes it feel like ours.”

Frank grins. “Maybe you can find a color called, like, _Dragon_ or something, keep with our awesome new theme?”

“Maybe.” Mikey’s pretty sure that any paint called _Dragon_ would be red-toned and that really wouldn’t work, but… well…He can look at colors and if it comes down to a choice, he’ll pick the one that fits their theme best. Even if they are never, ever going to tell anyone what that theme is.


End file.
